In Like A Lion, Out Like A Lamb
by SiriuslyPeeved
Summary: First-year Lysander Scamander has problems. His twin brother Lorcan is popular, James Potter hates him, and he can't help irritating Victoire Weasley, the beautiful seventh-year Prefect.
1. Sticky Buns and Haggis

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and family belong as always to J.K. Rowling and her publishers worldwide. I have so much fun playing with them, but I'll put them back when I'm done.

**Author's Note:** Written for LindaSnape's Obscure Pairings Challenge on TGS. This is my first foray into Next-Gen; it had to happen sometime! I am having a ball writing this story, and I hope you enjoy it.

The Scamander twins are not given a birth year in canon, but for the purposes of this challenge, I've put them in Albus Potter's year at Hogwarts.

Beta-read by the wonderful onestop_hpfan18 / Leslie at TGS. Thank you! Any remaining errors are all mine.

**Sticky Buns and Haggis**

**September, 2017**

"Gryffindor first-years, this way!" The tall girl's silver-blonde hair rippled back over her shoulders, alive with more than the dancing torchlight. Holding a wide scroll, she stood proudly at the head of the line of anxious new students. A pimply kid from the Slytherin line edged his way closer to the Gryffindors. The blonde girl flashed him a terrifying look. For a fraction of a second, her eyes seemed to glow as orange as the torches, sending him skittering back to his own people. The Slytherins roared with laughter.

Lysander leaned close to his sleepy twin and poked him hard to get his attention. "Who is that girl with the scroll?"

Lorcan rubbed the sore spot on his ribs. "Your Prefect, you dolt. Better follow her."

Lysander felt a sudden lurch of sickness. Two different flights of stairs led away from the Great Hall. The boys had planned the whole thing at home, safe and secure in their own bunks at night. It would be okay if they were sorted into different Houses; they were eleven years old, and they sort of felt they needed the space. Standing outside the Great Hall, watching the Ravenclaws go one way and the Gryffindors another, Lysander didn't think it was a great idea at all.

"Uh, see you tomorrow then."

Lorcan hugged him hard. Spikes of dirty blond hair poked Lysander in the face. "Don't worry. Mum always said Gryffindors were nice."

Lysander laughed nervously. "I dunno about Mum's opinion of 'nice.' That's what she said about that fairy that poked me in the eye when we were five."

"Scamander!" snapped the Prefect.

The kids toward the back of the line guffawed at him. Lorcan gave Lysander a little push toward the Gryffindors. Unobtrusively, Lorcan slipped into the orderly file of Ravenclaws. Lysander followed his new class up the stairs, loving and envying his twin in equal measure. If there was one word for Lorcan Scamander, it was "smooth." Lorcan was just like Dad. He could easily find his way out of anything with a smile and a clever _bon mot_. Lysander was the awkward one, more like Mum. The difference between Lysander and his mother was that Mum floated happily through her daily life at Hogwarts, ignoring the worst of the jibes turned toward those kids who just didn't fit in. Without Lorcan by his side, Lysander wasn't sure he could handle it. Lysander's eyes stung. He pressed one hand quickly to his nose as he climbed the seemingly endless stairs.

A short, chestnut-skinned boy walking next to him said, "You all right?"

"Yeah. Allergies."

The boy grinned understandingly. "I'm Alfie Shacklebolt. You?"

"I'm Lorcan... uh, I mean Lysander Scamander," Lysander stammered, even tripping over his own name in an effort not to make a prat out of himself. The Shacklebolt kid looked an awful lot like the Minister: he was probably his son. "My twin's name is Lorcan. He's in Ravenclaw."

Alfie's cheerful face lit up. "Your mum's Luna Lovegood!"

Lysander felt edgy. "So what?"

"My Dad says she's cool."

"Really?"

"Yeah, we still take the _Quibbler_; Dad likes the beauty tips," Alfie laughed, and Lysander felt an embarrassed smile creep onto his face.

"Shacklebolt! Scamander!" Lysander's head snapped up guiltily. "Shut it back there! You're not even going to hear the password, and you can bet your last Dungbomb I'm not spending the entire next week repeating it to first-years who can't pay attention!"

"Who is that?" Lysander hissed.

"Victoire Weasley. Seventh-year Prefect," Alfie said, running a finger around his collar. "Heard she's tough."

"I should have recognized her!" Considering how much Mum liked to talk about her school friends, she was surprisingly quiet about the time she spent at Shell Cottage. Lysander suspected those stories fell under the category of "I'll tell you when you're older."

Lysander tripped on the lip of the portrait hole and sprawled at Victoire's feet. "Scamander," she said sharply. Lysander gaped at her. "Repeat the password."

"Uh, _venomous tentacula_."

Victoire's smooth face barely showed her irritation. To Lysander, it felt like the static in the air before a thunderstorm. "Listen, I'm not doing you any favors. You're at Hogwarts now, and you're going to have to get along on your own hard work here. Clear?"

Bawling in front of everybody was not the way Lysander wanted to start his first night in the dorms. He fought for control of his voice. "I'm sorry, Miss Weasley. I didn't mean to miss the password, I was just talking."

"_Ice Mice_," said Victoire, her eyes softening just a fraction. She turned him around and gave him a push toward the twin spiral staircases. "The first-year boys' dorm is on the second floor. The boys' stairs are on the left. Breakfast starts at seven, and the first class begins promptly at eight-thirty."

Lysander shuffled dispiritedly toward the stairs. He thought he could still feel the warmth of Victoire's hands on his shoulders.

A group of older kids were laughing in the Common Room behind him. "Don't let Cousin Vicky get you riled up. She's the most evil Prefect outside of Slytherin!"

"Watch it!" snapped Victoire. Laughter followed Lysander as he ascended out of sight.

*

Lysander passed a sleepless night. Part homesickness and part excitement, the feeling was impossible to shake. From the lower windows of Gryffindor Tower, he watched the sun rise through dry, sticky eyes. Alfie Shacklebolt snored in the next bed. Crimson velvet curtains waved slightly in the soft breeze coming off the lake. He thought he could see sinuous tentacles waving just below the surface, but he was probably imagining things.

Lysander smiled as he remembered how his Mum brought the Giant Squid a different treat every day until she finally made friends with it. "Bring the old dear a batch of Cauldron Cakes and give him my love," she told the boys. Lorcan had rolled his eyes and gone off to practice Quidditch in the garden, but Lysander thought he might really do it if he got a chance.

Lysander leaned his head against the cool stone window frame. He fiddled with his birch wand, polished to velvet smoothness and lightweight between his fingers. Lysander wondered whether Lorcan was sitting up in Ravenclaw Tower. Probably not: his twin could sleep upside down in a tree. Lysander chuckled and pulled the thick gray blanket tighter around his shoulders.

"Scamander," whispered Alfie, poking his head out through the tasseled curtains. "You just get up?"

"I wish, couldn't sleep."

"I kept dreaming about being Sorted. Gave me the creeps, that Hat."

Lysander shivered. "Yeah, didn't seem to have any problem about putting me here, but I've got my doubts."

Alfie chuckled and scratched his closely shaven head. With a flourish, he pulled a violently lime-green dressing gown out of his trunk. "No worries mate. I'm starved, let's get a move on."

Cleaned up and dressed in scratchy new uniforms and robes, the boys were among the first students to show up for breakfast. As Lysander sat down at the Gryffindor table, a sharp pain tore into his upper thigh. Lysander jumped up and yelled, spilling Alfie's pumpkin juice.

"Hey!" Alfie protested. Lysander pulled something hard out of his leg. The pointy end caught on the woolen robe, and Lysander had to wiggle it from side to side to get it free. "What in Merlin's name is that?"

Lysander flushed and regarded the hollow spine in his hand. "Mum must've run out of normal straight pins... I think this is an African porcupine quill."

"Seriously?" Alfie hooted. "You must have the funniest house anywhere, man." Alfie clapped him on the back. "Anybody here know a siphoning charm?"

The teachers at the head table mostly ignored the fracas. Professor Hagrid had the _Daily Prophet_ open to the funny pages, and was pointing out a clever cartoon to his diminutive neighbor, Professor Flitwick. Lysander saw Professor Longbottom, their Head of House, sectioning a grapefruit with his wand. Mr. McLaggen, the burly flying coach, tucked into what appeared to be a steaming plate of haggis.

Alfie retched as the aroma wafted past the end of their table. "I do not know how anybody can eat that stuff for breakfast! Do you know what's _in_ haggis?"

"Don't even go there. I'm a vegetarian."

Victoire Weasley settled down at the far end of the table. She sprinkled half a spoonful of sugar in her coffee, added a microscopic dot of cream, and sipped it quietly, flipping through the first pages of a thick textbook. Lysander's stomach gave a funny little jump that had nothing to do with the smell of haggis. Alfie poked his upper arm. "Wake up! I asked you to pass the marmalade, like, two minutes ago."

"Sorry, mate." Lysander handed over the marmalade, but couldn't keep his eyes from the end of the Gryffindor table. Victoire's glass-smooth hair shone pale azure in the reflected glow from the enchanted ceiling. "C'mon, let's move further down the table."

Alfie chewed noisily. "What for?" He belched and wiped his fingers on his robes.

"C'mon, I see a plate of sticky buns."

"Say no more!" Alfie obligingly moved the remains of his pumpkin juice several seats closer to Victoire, and the two boys dug into the sweets.

"Mum never lets us eat like this at breakfast. She says it interferes with your energies to eat junk food first thing in the morning."

Alfie licked icing from his fingers. "Oh yeah? I feel good as new." He belched loudly and received dirty looks from a cluster of third- or fourth-year girls sitting a few yards away. Alfie doffed his short, pointed black hat and gave what passed for a little bow in his seat. "Excuse me, ladies."

The girls looked revolted. "The first-years are much worse than usual this year," one girl complained. "Were we ever that stupid?"

Lysander and Alfie broke out laughing.

"It's Weasley!" A squealing giggle assaulted Lysander's ears from close range. Lysander made a pained face at Alfie, who stuck his tongue out. "I missed you so much this summer, Vicky, I've been deadly bored without you!" Two older girls, nearly grown-ups as far as Lysander could tell, greeted his Prefect with extreme enthusiasm and many air-kisses. The curly-haired blonde sidled in beside Victoire on the long bench, and the short girl with long black braids perched on the opposite side of the table.

The blonde girl leaned confidentially toward Victoire and spoke in a low voice. "Weasley, I thought sure you'd be Head Girl this year! What happened?"

Victoire flushed a little and turned the page of her Potions text. Even Lysander could see that her fingertips were shaking. "Vicky dear, I didn't mean to upset you! I'm really sorry."

"You and every Weasley from here to Timbuktu," complained Victoire. "I swear, I never heard the end of it all summer!" When Victoire was upset, noticed Lysander, she had a little bit of a French accent. It was really nice.

The black-haired girl changed the subject. "I saw you snogging Lupin at the station! So, has he asked you yet?"

Victoire turned a scathing glance toward her friend. Again, Lysander saw a shadow flicker around her eyes, a golden flash like a hawk ready to drop on a fat pigeon. "Has Teddy Lupin asked me what?"

The blonde pulled back and scowled. "Vicky! Defensive much?"

The dark-haired girl chimed in. "What Hazel means, are you going to marry Teddy Lupin?"

Victoire got up from the bench. "I'm seventeen, silly. I've got to concentrate on N.E.W.T.s this year while Teddy's in the Auror course. If he keeps passing the exams, it would be three more years before he's finished."

"And then?"

Victoire's smile was enigmatic as she leaned over the table, sweeping her heavy schoolbooks into her arms. "We'll see if he can hold my interest that long." She paused by Alfie and Lysander on the way to the door, giving them her friendliest smile yet. Lysander felt the pit of his stomach contract again as she approached. Mum might have been right about too many sweets at breakfast.

"Be good, boys. The second-years are already bleeding House points, but I have higher hopes for your class."

"That totally stinks." James Potter clambered onto the bench beside Alfie. "I swear she was lurking outside the boys' loo this morning to see whether I was going to try to nick a toilet seat. Seriously, family means nothing these days. Hey, Shacklebolt! Scamander!"

Lysander couldn't help cringing. James's angular, freckled face and rumpled brown hair brought back too many memories of enforced playtime at the Potters'. Even when they were little kids, James had gotten along far better with Lorcan than with Lysander. Lorcan and James were both into Quidditch and practical jokes. Lysander generally ended up hiding out in the garden with Albus until Lily, the pest, found them, and his idealistic Mum insisted they all play together.

Invariably, the boys' games came to blows. Mum and Aunt Ginny patched everybody up while Dad and Uncle Harry laughed their heads off inside. Lysander had been secretly relieved when they moved to Sweden so Mum could write her book on the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Visits with the Potters dwindled to once every few years, then hardly at all. Mum and Aunt Ginny were still best friends, though.

"Welcome to Hogwarts!" James flexed his wand with a magnanimous smile. "Anybody been giving you trouble?"

Alfie grinned. "Nah, not yet. Having a sticky bun, care for one?"

"Full up," said James, patting his stomach. "Had some haggis, that'll stick to your ribs."

"You can't be serious!" Alfie looked like he was going to hurl. James basked in a range of disgusted reactions from around the table. Lysander kept his mouth full so he didn't have to talk to James.

"Hey, where's your brother?" Alfie asked James.

James glanced around, shifty-eyed as if he wanted to make sure nobody was listening. "Slytherin."

"Blimey!" Alfie exclaimed and nearly knocked over the remains of his pumpkin juice. "How'd I miss that?"

"I wish I'd missed it, too." James squished a sticky bun in his palm. Icing squeezed out between his fingers. "I can't bloody believe it. What are Mum and Dad going to say?"

Lysander had mistrusted James since he was about four years old, but he felt badly for him. "Lorcan's in Ravenclaw; I was pretty unhappy we weren't put together, too."

James sneered. "Oh, _Ravenclaw_ would have been fine. How's it going to look for the Head Auror's kid to be in Slytherin, anyway? Nobody cares where you guys get Sorted."

Lysander's heart pounded heavily with embarrassment. Guess he wouldn't try being nice to James Potter again anytime soon. Glancing over at the Slytherin tables by the far wall, Lysander saw Albus sitting by himself. He hadn't changed a bit, still short and skinny with unruly hair like Uncle Harry's. Albus's breakfast was untouched, and he looked miserable. Lysander wished he could talk to Albus, but he remembered the disgusting hexes James had practiced on them with Aunt Ginny's purloined wand. James didn't have to steal a wand anymore. Lysander decided to catch up with Albus at another time.

All too soon, it was time for their first class. Even Alfie looked nervous, rummaging through his bag for his books. "What's first up?" Lysander asked.

Alfie perked up when he found the schedule. The scroll was smeared with sticky bun icing, and Alfie had a bit of trouble prying it apart to read it. "Sweet! Flying lessons with Ravenclaw! You can introduce me to your brother!"

Lysander groaned with dread.


	2. Daring, Nerve, and Chivalry

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and family belong as always to J.K. Rowling and her publishers worldwide.

**Author's Note:** Cormac McLaggen was a last minute substitute in the previous chapter. He is ridiculously fun to write!

**Daring, Nerve, and Chivalry**

The Quidditch pitch was already dotted with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw first-years when Lysander and Alfie arrived. Tall, timbered stands rose fifteen meters into the air, topped by rickety bleachers. Lysander knew that the whole thing had to be supported by some serious charms, but it didn't make him feel any better.

Lysander searched the throng of first-years for his twin. Identical black hats poked up everywhere. "I don't see Lorcan anywhere!"

"Yeah, but someday you'll be able to summon him. _Accio twin!_" joked Alfie, waving his wand in a loopy figure eight. Nothing happened except a sudden puff of cobalt blue smoke. Laughter broke out around the boys. Alfie put his wand away with a sheepish look. Lysander looked around one more time. Alfie tugged on his sleeve. "C'mon, Coach is starting!"

A tall, thickly built wizard in Gryffindor Quidditch robes strode through the sea of pointed black caps. His uneven, swaying gait made Lysander think of a pirate. Coach McLaggen winked and gave exaggerated waves to students he recognized, as if the kids were the press corps at a match.

"Gryffindors! Ravenclaws! I'm Cormac McLaggen, flying coach and games coordinator at Hogwarts. Headmaster Sprout hired me to shake up the Quidditch program this year. I played professionally for six years: two as reserve for the Wimbourne Wasps, then four years as lead Keeper for the Chudley Cannons."

General laughter broke out at the mention of the unluckiest sporting franchise in Wizarding England. Even Lysander chuckled, and he knew only what his brother had forced him to learn about Quidditch.

"My professional career was ended by a little mishap during a match against the Holyhead Harpies. I was in St. Mungo's for three months," Coach McLaggen said proudly, lifting his robes to show the lower part of his right leg. The girls standing in front of them squealed. Alfie and Lysander turned to one another and shrugged: they couldn't see a thing.

"Sorry if I put anyone off their feed, but it's a good time for you all to learn the basics of broomstick safety. A broomstick's not like a Muggle car; you can't just pull over and stop if something goes wrong. You and the ground here -" McLaggen squatted down and slapped the turf with one scarred hand - "would suddenly be on very intimate terms. You need to be proactive! Ladies!" The chattering girls right in front of Lysander suddenly snapped to attention. "Broomsticks are in the tote behind me. Form two lines and stay at least a yard apart. Ravenclaws on my left: Gryffindors on my right. Lay the broomstick out on the ground beside you, and no more talking!"

Alfie and Lysander lined up with the Gryffindors. Directly across from them stood a tiny, freckled girl with wild brown curls foaming beneath her hat. "Alfie! Lysander!" she hissed, waving frantically.

"Lysander, look, it's Rose Weasley."

Lysander grinned. Even if he hadn't yet spotted Lorcan, it was a relief to see a friendly face in the Ravenclaw line. "Yeah, she used to help me and Albus hide from James sometimes. James never went after Rosie, though; she's dangerous. I remember one time when we were little kids, James came after Rosie with a Bludger, and she turned his hair into lo mein noodles. He smelled like a Chinese take-away for weeks."

"No talking!" boomed Coach McLaggen. On the way to discipline Alfie and Lysander, McLaggen spotted Rose. The coach stopped, his expression darkening. "Weasley, is it?" he asked, bending down to look the suddenly timid Rose in the eye.

"Yes, sir," squeaked Rose.

"What's your Mum up to these days?"

It should have been a friendly question, but McLaggen's sneer and hostile demeanor changed it into an interrogation. Rose ducked her head uncomfortably. "Sir, my Mum is lead assistant counsel to the Wizengamot."

McLaggen made a sound halfway between a cough and a sneeze. "And your Dad?"

Rose's ears turned bright magenta. She took half a step back and mumbled her answer. "Um, he used to be an Auror, Sir, but now he works in my Uncle George's shop."

McLaggen clapped his hands and laughed aloud. Rose looked even more upset.

"Leave her alone," Lysander said boldly. He was shocked as soon as the words left his mouth. Alfie took half a step back as McLaggen approached. The Coach's rugged face darkened with fury.

"Who are you, boy?"

"Lysander Scamander. Rose is my friend! You're upsetting her. Why do you care about her parents?"

"I'll thank you to keep your mind on your own flying and address a teacher with respect," snapped McLaggen. "Five points from Gryffindor!" he thundered, loping away on his gimpy leg.

A rush of dissatisfied whispers flew down the Gryffindor line. Angry faces turned toward Lysander. Abashed, he suspected that getting House points docked during their very first class wasn't a super way to make friends.

As McLaggen gave directions on how to raise the broomstick from the ground, Rose Weasley waved at Lysander. She whispered "Thank you," and Lysander smiled back.

Most of the class had little trouble getting the broomstick to leap from the damp grass to their hands. There were a couple kids, probably Muggle-borns, who met with more resistance. Lysander was surprised to see McLaggen working patiently with the kids who were having trouble. Maybe he wasn't all bad, even if he was a nosy, pompous blowhard.

Coach McLaggen strolled up and down the ranks of first-years. Ten Gryffindors and ten Ravenclaws stood at attention. "Call your brooms!" McLaggen boomed.

"Up!" the students shouted as one. All twenty brooms responded. A girl from Ravenclaw yodeled with glee. Coach McLaggen grinned back.

"All right, we'll do this one at a time. Remember what I told you. Kick off from the ground and point your broom up at a thirty-degree angle: no greater than that on the first try, or you'll be sorry. Then fly!"

Lysander was first to be called on the Ravenclaw side. He'd flown as a kid at home, but never anything more than a slow spin around the garden. The pure power of the broom in his hands was exhilarating. Lysander dug his heels into the ground and the broom leapt into the sky.

"Lysander!" screamed Rose Weasley. "Hang on!"

Lysander slipped backwards, his fingers reaching desperately for a grip on the smooth handle. Grabbing at anything he could reach, Lysander broke off a double handful of twigs from the tail. Crumbling to uselessness, the twigs fell slowly to the Quidditch pitch far below. The unmanned broom careened back toward the line of terrified students on the ground, accelerating as Lysander plummeted to earth.

* * *

Lysander opened his eyes. His own worried face hovered over him, spikes of blonde hair mashed flat. Lysander moaned. "I'm having an out-of-body experience."

Lorcan laughed with relief. "You sound just like Mum!"

"Lorcan!" Lysander grabbed his twin around the neck. Lorcan fell on him. "Ouch! Where were you?"

Lorcan rolled off, laughing, and reached over to ruffle his brother's hair. "I was late. Got lost, actually. Just got here. Man, you took quite a beating."

"You're going to be fine!" said an encouraging female voice at his side.

"Rose?"

Rose Weasley rubbed at a grass stain on his face with an outstretched finger. "Oh, bother. _Tergeo!_" she declared.

"Hey!" Lysander batted Rose's wand away. He felt like Rose was scrubbing his skin off with sandpaper. Mum's cleaning spells were a whole lot gentler than that.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" Rose patted his shoulder. "I don't know what in the world McLaggen could already have against me; for Merlin's sake, I just got here, but you stood up for me. Thanks." Lysander blushed.

"I heard from my Dad that McLaggen has a thing about Weasleys," said Alfie grumpily, scratching his scalp under his hat. "I guess he has a thing about Scamanders now, too. You all right, mate?"

Lysander didn't answer. His head swam as he listened to his friends and brother chatting pleasantly together. He felt worse and worse. First, he felt hot all over, and then cold. His gorge rose. "Ugh, Lorcan. I think I'm going to..." Lysander hurled his breakfast into the grass. Alfie leapt out of the way just in time.

"Scamander!" barked Coach McLaggen. He stormed up to their group, moving Lorcan out of the way with a firm hand. "You've put three of your classmates into the infirmary! What did I tell you? _Never - kick - off - without - holding - onto - the - blasted - broomstick!_"

"Yes, sir," said Lysander weakly. Alfie handed him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth. He felt horrible, with puke all over his sleeve and robes.

"Madam Pomfrey is on her way back down here with a stretcher. By some form of dumb luck, you, the perpetrator, are the least injured of the three, so she left you till last. You're going to miss at least the first two days of term if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh, no!" cried Rose. "I'll take notes for you, Lysander, I promise."

"Me, too," Alfie pledged.

Lysander smiled wanly. "Thanks, you guys."

"I'm going to have a word with your Head of House about your cheek," said Coach McLaggen as Madam Pomfrey levitated Lysander onto a waiting stretcher. " You've gotten off on the wrong foot here at Hogwarts. I hope you're more respectful in your other classes. Seriously, boy, I wouldn't _ever_ cross Professor Longbottom if I were you." McLaggen shuddered as Madam Pomfrey waved her wand to move the stretcher.

Lorcan walked beside Lysander all the way to the infirmary. It was the first time Lysander had been in the oldest part of the castle. Fighting renewed waves of nausea, he felt a little sad that he wasn't able to appreciate it. Lysander felt a lot better knowing that Lorcan was by his side.

"Hey, Lorcan?"

"Yeah?"

"You think Mum and Dad will be mad at me?"

Lorcan squeezed his arm. Lysander knew his own expression was mirrored on his twin's thin face. "Our Mum and Dad? I don't think so. They'll be proud you stood up for Rosie. I thought sure they goofed when they split us up last night, but now I know you're meant to be a Gryffindor. Daring, nerve, and chivalry," Lorcan grinned.

Lysander lolled back against the pillow, gratified but confused. Near the library, they passed a tall girl with silver-blonde hair. "Who's this? Oh! Scamander! And another Scamander?" Victoire Weasley peered down at Lysander. "What in the world happened?"

"First flying lesson," said Madam Pomfrey with weary acceptance. "There's always someone."

"The poor dear." Victoire laid her cool fingertips on Lysander's forehead for a moment. Instantly, the nausea disappeared. Lysander felt like he could leap off the stretcher and fly through the open window, no broomstick required.

"What about the other kids I hurt? I feel so bad."

Madam Pomfrey smiled fondly. "They'll be all right, dear. At least you'll have company in the infirmary."

To Lysander's surprise, Victoire walked behind the stretcher, accompanying Madam Pomfrey to the infirmary. Bandaged Gryffindors occupied a few other beds. Victoire waited while Madam Pomfrey settled Lysander in bed. Just the sensation of being floated off the stretcher was enough to make Lysander feel horribly sick again. He groaned with agony, both from the pain and from mortification at Victoire Weasley seeing him this way.

"Victoire, if you haven't got anywhere to be right now, I'd appreciate it if you could go to Lysander's dormitory and pick up some clean clothes."

"Of course, Madam Pomfrey. It wouldn't be any trouble."

"I'll give you a few moments to say good-bye to your brother, Lorcan, and then I expect it'll be time for you to head toward your next class." Madam Pomfrey lifted her wand and the blue-and-white striped curtains around the bed slid quietly closed.

"That's the girl from last night," Lorcan remembered, sitting on the edge of Lysander's bed.

"Yeah," Lysander said miserably.

"She's good-looking."

Lysander laughed at the understatement. "She's the most incredible girl I've ever seen."

Lorcan quirked a pale eyebrow at his twin. "Lysander, she's got to be seventeen years old."

"And we're eleven. I know." Lysander closed his eyes. He felt he could drift off and at least dream of the girl he was too young to ever be friends with... or more than friends.

"Lysander, you've got a concussion! I can't let you go to sleep till I've gotten the inflammation under control." Madam Pomfrey stuck her bonneted head in between the curtains. "_Insomnio!_"

Madam Pomfrey's waking spell jolted Lysander's insides and increased his heart rate. Lysander grabbed hold of the folded blankets.

Lorcan reached for his hand. His twin had a worried look on his face. "Listen, I've got to get to class now. I've got Herbology."

At the thought of Professor Longbottom, Lysander's anxiety increased. He remembered what McLaggen had said about the Gryffindor Head of House. It didn't fit very well with the hazy memories of Mum and Dad's old friend, who was always kind and thoughtful. He usually brought Lorcan and Lysander a weird plant for a present; they had a whole patch of them in the garden. Maybe McLaggen's opinions weren't to be trusted.

"Okay, have a good time." Lorcan parted the curtains to leave, then knelt on the bed and hugged Lysander as tight as he could. "Lay off. I might hurl on you again."

"Yeah, it wouldn't be the first time." Lorcan stood up, chuckling as he straightened his Ravenclaw tie. "Listen, I think Professor Longbottom will probably be writing to Mum and Dad about your fall, but I'll let him know you're doing okay now. I'll be up to see you later."

Lysander felt a horrible pang of envy; Lorcan was going back to class. He turned his head into the pillow, closing his eyes even though he knew Madam Pomfrey's spell would keep him awake.


	3. Vampire Damselflies

**Disclaimer:** We're all well aware of this one, but in the off chance someone is not, all recognizable characters, events, magical vegetables, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm afraid I've made up rather a lot of the rest of it.

**Author's Note:** I promised an update when I completed my AU, so here it is :) This story is unfolding at a rather slower rate than I originally planned, so I'm taking the time to smell the roses. Hope you enjoy!

**Vampire Damselflies**

The high ceiling of the infirmary gelled up very slowly in Lysander's clouded vision, graceful stone arches glowing orange with sunset light. Lysander wiped a drop of drool from the corner of his lips.

"Hey," said a familiar squeaky voice to his left.

Lysander rubbed his eyes and rolled his head to see his visitor. His stiff neck hurt like crazy. "Son of a hippogriff!" he swore.

"Language!" snapped Madam Pomfrey.

Lysander knew his visitor's answering giggle. "Al?"

Albus Potter sat by the bedside with an open copy of _Standard Book of Spells: Grade One_ across his lap. He had evidently prepared for a long visit with a drooling, oblivious friend; a half-empty goblet of pumpkin juice and a ham sandwich stood on Lysander's side table. "Well, now I can tell Rose and Shacklebolt you're alive. Pomfrey finally sent them packing half an hour ago."

"Good to see you, mate."

Albus brushed ham sandwich crumbs off his green-and-silver tie: he always was a really messy eater, even when they were little kids. "I'm glad _somebody's_ happy to see me."

Lysander squirmed, thinking of how James's disapproval kept him from going over to talk with Al at breakfast. Al Potter was the kind of kid who noticed that sort of slight, but he was way too polite — some would say too sly — to say anything about it. For the moment, Al seemed unruffled. "Want some of this sandwich?"

"Dude, I'm a vegetarian."

"Are you hungry though? Madam Pomfrey said you could have some supper when you woke up."

"It's suppertime?" Lysander's gut sank with dismay; he had missed his entire first day at Hogwarts. He struggled to pull himself up on his elbows but the pain in his head and neck flattened him again.

"Scamander," said Madam Pomfrey sharply, "Don't overextend yourself or you'll be staying longer than you care to." The bustling woman in the creased white cap lay the back of her cool hand on Lysander's forehead and then raised her wand to each of his eyes in turn. She made a satisfied sound and patted Lysander's hand where it clutched the blankets. "Your pupils are responding normally. I think you're well on your way to recovery. I'll fetch you a bowl of soup and we'll see how it goes from there."

"So how's Slytherin?" asked Lysander after he'd been set up with a small bowl of vegetable soup on a stainless steel hospital tray. He blew on a spoonful of soup and slurped it loudly.

A curly-haired girl in the next bed groaned. With a twinge of guilt, Lysander thought he recognized her as one of the Ravenclaws he'd mowed down on the Quidditch pitch.

"Madam Pomfrey, I don't want to be stuck next to a disgusting _boy_. He broke my arm and now he's making me sick watching him eat."

Al and Lysander both snickered as Madam Pomfrey raised her wand and sent the girl's white cloth bed curtains flying closed.

"How's Slytherin, huh?" Al finished his ham sandwich and chewed before answering the interrupted question. "Our dorm is nice. The common room has these huge dragon skin couches, they're so comfortable. The big kids say you get used to the green torches after a while, but every time I come out of the dungeons, the light kind of hurts my eyes."

Lysander spooned around in his soup bowl for a slice of carrot. "They're not mean to you or anything?"

"I expect they've hardly had a chance to get in a proper hazing." Al wiped his napkin across his face, cleaning up the smudges of mustard and tomato seeds. "The older kids were bragging about finally getting a Potter. I can make that work for me – as long as they forget about the whole blood traitor thing." Albus shrugged.

"Nobody goes around thinking 'blood traitor' anymore." Al gave Lysander a skeptical look that reminded him of the spectators at Mum's book tour for _Conversations with a Crumple-Horned Snorkack_. "I think you're going to do great. You just have to promise me to tip me off if the older kids in your dorm are planning anything."

Al chuckled. "Only if it's about the first-years, okay? I don't think I'd be too upset if they got James back for me."

"What do you think your mum and dad are going to say?"

Albus looked sad for a moment. "I talked to Dad about it before the train left. I'm pretty sure Dad knew all along what was going to happen. He'll have prepared Mum; you know Mum, she's cool. It's not so much Mum and Dad I worry about, but the rest of the family… I had a choice, you know, the Hat would have let me go to Gryffindor if I'd wanted to."

"You wanted to get away from your brother." Lysander knew about brothers.

"Yeah. Something like that."

The two boys were both quiet for a few minutes, Lysander tipping his soup bowl around to catch the last of the tomato broth on his spoon. The soup was almost as good as Mum's, but without the dirigible plum puree she often stirred in to "lift their spirits." A powerful longing for home pushed its way into Lysander's heart; even though Lysander tried to push it right back out again, there it stayed.

"Listen, I've got to get back. I'm glad you're okay."

"I'm glad you're okay, too." Lysander hated it when he said stupid stuff that made people scratch their heads afterward – it seemed to be happening more and more as he got older.

Al just smiled and left a rolled-up pink parchment on the bedside table. "I almost forgot. It's from your Mum. Professor Longbottom talked her out of flying in here like a banshee when you got hurt."

"Potter, your dishes!"

Lysander only faintly heard Madam Pomfrey berating Al about the dirty sandwich plate and empty goblet. He opened his scroll with trembling fingers.

"_Lysander darling,_" the letter began, "_I'm so sorry you were hurt. Neville told me I shouldn't run in right away, you weren't that badly done in and it would set a bad tone for the rest of term. I wish I were there all the same even if you are such a big boy now. You know, broomsticks are one of the seven nemeses of the Lovegood family. (The others are shoes, Muggle television sets, flobberworms, coat hangers, jack-in-the-boxes, and erumpents. You might want to keep an eye out for that last one. You just never know.)_

"_Your Pygmy Puffs are well. They've had another baby! It's pink with purple stripes. I thought you might like sending it to Lily Luna since you've such an embarrassment of riches when it comes to baby Puffs. Let me know, dear, I'm sure Lily Luna is terribly lonely without Albus._"

Lysander thought Mum was probably right about the youngest Potter. Lysander had always thought of Lily as little better than a human cloud of gnats flying around his head when he was up to serious business with Al, but he felt for her. All the same, he was relieved that his scientific breeding of Pygmy Puffs hadn't become a conversation starter around school. It was enough notoriety to be "the kid who knocked out half of Ravenclaw" or "the kid who barfed on Shacklebolt."

"_I'm sure you'll be feeling much better soon, dear, and if you're not, think of Granddad Lovegood when he was bitten by the vampire damselfly in Sweden and how his face swelled up like a plum for two weeks. He turned it into a marvelous conversation piece and discovered a new wrinkle potion all when most wizards would have hidden behind drawn curtains the entire time. Take what's unique about you and use it to make your life better, dear. Don't be afraid to be yourself._"

Lysander snuffled, wiping his tears with the striped sleeve of his nightshirt. Mum always made stuff sound way easier than it was; it drove Lorcan crazy.

"_Tell Lorcan to make sure to spray that wrackspurt repellent around his bed at night, it's extremely effective and you know he always was extra attractive to wrackspurts with that lovely-smelling hair of his. You don't wash yours as often as Lorcan, I suppose your strategy has its good points._" Lysander laughed loudly.

His neighbor whined, "Shut up, Scamander!"

"You're using my name now," Lysander addressed the closed curtain.

"You're not listening otherwise!"

"What's your name?"

The Ravenclaw girl twitched back her curtain. Her curly, bright yellow hair was mashed down with bandages on one side, making her look like the mummy of a clown. A bottle of potion stood beside the bed. "Jefferson. Leandra Jefferson."

"Did your Mum and Dad go to Hogwarts?"

"I'm Muggle-born."

"Wow, that must be intense. I mean, my family is weird, but at least none of this stuff is a complete surprise."

Leandra remained stony-faced. "Your Mum wrote _Conversations with a Crumple-Horned Snorkack_. I saw that on the shelf in Flourish and Blotts when we were buying textbooks."

"Yeah! That's my Mum."

"Complete codswallop," said Leandra with a sniff, pulling the curtain closed again.

Lysander had only a few minutes to goggle at the closed curtain. Muggle-born skeptics with chips on their shoulders – what other surprises were on the way?

"Hello Scamander," said a woman's voice. A faint French accent colored her vowels. Lysander looked up, startled. Victoire Weasley was standing at the foot of the bed holding a half-filled drawstring sack. "Madam Pomfrey asked me to escort you back to the dorm. I'm sure you'd sleep better in your own bed."

"Victoire?" squeaked Lysander. "Uh, I mean Miss Weasley?"

"Come along, then, Madam Pomfrey says she'll give you a once-over on the way out. Good night," she told Leandra Jefferson, whose bandaged head peeked out nosily between the bed curtains.

And so Lysander Scamander left the Infirmary on the arm of the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts; not much could touch his happiness as the sunset faded from the mountains and the stained-glass windows in the stairwell lost their outside glow in favor of candlelight.

"I'm sure you've got homework," clucked Victoire, "I heard Shacklebolt groaning about it a little while ago. Well, you've barely broken through the crust of what you'll be doing in just a few months. Six inches on the different types of Charms – and another six on Swelling Solutions for Professor Chang; she's tough."

Well, maybe there was one thing that could dampen Lysander's spirits.


End file.
